One Play Away? It’s His Life

For a guy who died in 1994, Eric Heismeyer played some very good football in 1995.

On the phone from Fargo, N.D., where he is beginning his senior season as a North Dakota State tight end, Eric sounded fine and fit when we spoke after his first day of training camp. “Hot here in North Dakota today,” he reported.

“Too hot for football,” was my reply.

Eric had an answer for that.

“Well,” he said, “there are worse things in life.”

We spoke about his heartbeat having stopped, two years ago.

His coach, Rocky Hager, called me later, to talk about what an inspiration Eric has been, having started all 13 games last season, with a heart condition.

Normally, I wouldn’t write about North Dakota State football, but Eric Heismeyer’s story is one that more people should know.

I haven’t even mentioned his cancer yet.

*

South Dakota has a town called Esteline, the population of which, as charted by a recent census, is 719. It is due north of Brookings, not far from the Minnesota border.

Willard and Gail Heismeyer raised their three kids there. Eric was a basketball star, making all-state twice and being named to a McDonald’s All-American team.

“He played mainly nine-man football,” remembers Hager, who was happy to have a 6-foot-5, 260-pound, two-way end enroll at his school.

North Dakota State is a small college power. The Bison won the NCAA Division II national championships in 1986, 1987 and 1990, for example.

Eric lost interest in basketball. He gave it up.

The football program redshirted him in 1992. Eric said he had some lower back pain, totally unrelated to any health problems that would occur later.

No, he was a big, strong kid, the kind who would put away three hearty meals and drink a dozen Dr Peppers in a single day.

Eric lettered during the Bison’s 1993 season, though he caught no passes. North Dakota State primarily uses its tight ends as blockers, and Eric is an exceptional one.

The fact that his heart would race at what seemed an unusual pace, Eric ignored that. A typical athlete’s adrenaline, he figured.

But it got worse.

“We’re talking your shirt moving,” Eric said.

He couldn’t sleep. His breathing was labored. Climbing the stairs took the wind out of a strapping, 260-pound athlete.

His roommates at Stockbridge Hall, who were also teammates--tackle Kris Kortuem and running back Jason Miller--drove Eric to class, partly because they could see what a strain even walking had become.

Eric began to think he must have some sort of virus.

A few weeks into 1994, “spring” drills began, even though February in Fargo is not exactly a time when flowers bloom. Eric reported for duty, but felt woozy. He was rushed to a nearby emergency room.

His heartbeat was wildly accelerated, anywhere from 170 to 200 beats a minute.

Doctors diagnosed atrial fibrillation, one side of the heart pounding faster than the other.

They got him out of danger.

But it was a short-term fix. To regulate his heart rhythm, doctors said, a radical procedure would be necessary. They would have to deliberately stop Eric’s heart, then start it again.

Heart trouble ran in Eric’s family. His parents heard Eric say that he wanted the procedure to be done, no matter what.

“I told them, ‘If it’s my time, then it’s my time.’ ”

And so, a doctor stopped Eric’s heart.

Then he picked up the paddles, to restart the heart by electric shock. He ordered everyone to stand clear, then turned on the juice.

Nothing.

The doctor tried it again.

Nothing.

Eric’s heart did not start. His chest muscles were so large, surgeons speculated later, the power from the paddles actually had difficulty penetrating the flesh.

A third time, Eric’s unbeating heart was hit with the paddles.

Nothing.

The 20-year-old football player on the table was in trouble. Not until a fourth try did his heart finally respond.

After he felt better, Eric got some advice from the doctors. His heart failure was not merely genetic, they said. One other thing had contributed to it.

“Caffeine,” he was told.

His diet would have to change, and fast.

Eric Heismeyer, his life saved by a doctor, was told to stay away from Dr Pepper.

*

Rocky Hager never expected to have him back. He was told a “99% chance” existed of Eric’s never again playing football.

The coach has a philosophy that has served him through the years. He calls it his “One Play Away” theory.

Rocky tells his players to always be aware that on any given day, they could be one play away from never playing again.

Eric Heismeyer, meanwhile, began getting on with his life. For starters, he married his girlfriend, Jennifer.

And then, he went out for football.

Doctors said it was OK, so the coaches said the same. Despite missing all of spring camp, Eric made the first string, started every game and caught the first five passes of his collegiate career.

On a Saturday trip home from Pittsburg, Kan., where a 10-victory season came to an end for North Dakota State with a 9-7 NCAA playoff loss to Pittsburg State, something began to bother Heismeyer.

That lump on his neck.

He went to the Dakota Clinic, soon as he got home. Doctors did a CT scan, then a biopsy, then some more tests. Then they gave Eric the news:

Hodgkin’s disease.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he says now, nine months later. “I was feeling so good. I told them, ‘It’s got to be a mistake.’

“The thing with cancer is, you can have it and not know it. I didn’t know, I just played 13 games with cancer.”

He began five weeks of radiation therapy.

He lost 50 pounds.

At hearing what happened, I thought Eric as unlucky as any college athlete I had ever interviewed. But then it occurred to me, I was speaking to someone who had just reported back to football practice.

So, I asked, “Do you feel cursed or blessed?”

“That’s a good question,” Eric said. “I’d have to say mostly blessed. I’m still here.”

Once the opening day of practice was over under that Dakota summer sun, Rocky Hager called to talk about the kid who just won’t quit.

From a football standpoint, the coach said, “His endurance is good, but not quite up to his usual standards. But, knowing Eric, it won’t be long before he’s his old self. He’s already back up to 255 pounds.”

And there’s something else Eric is doing.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Hager said, “but between our two-a-day workouts, Eric’s planning to take the guys with him over to the cancer ward, to visit the patients there.

“My theory about being one play away from being on the sidelines permanently? Well, when Eric says that now to the other guys, it really has meaning. He’s what I call a classic citizen.

“And you know who else deserves a lot of the credit? His wife. Jen’s the gal who gave Eric the strength he needed to go on. They’re a couple of special people.”

It takes special people to endure crises such as these.

Eric is already planning his future. The season begins Sept. 7. After graduation, he will become a commodities broker. Whatever risks the business world has, Eric doesn’t scare easily.

His father recently had open-heart surgery.

And then there’s his wife.

“They say the first year of marriage is the toughest,” Eric says. “I guess that must be true.”

“How come?” I ask.

“My wife just broke her arm.”

“She did?” I say, almost afraid to ask.

“Yeah,” Eric says. “She fell off a stool.”